


Your Love on Your Sleeve and Your Pain Buried Deep

by Dream_edge



Category: RWBY
Genre: Angst, Episode Related, Episode: v04e08 A Much Needed Talk, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-27 00:03:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13868829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dream_edge/pseuds/Dream_edge
Summary: Qrow loved Ozpin the same way he loved every beautiful, tragic thing in his life: quietly, loyally, and long after they're dead. Ruby grew up watching her family mourn the people they love.





	Your Love on Your Sleeve and Your Pain Buried Deep

**Author's Note:**

> [I-don't-believe-in-mountains](http://i-dont-believe-in-mountains.tumblr.com/) over on tumblr made a wonderful [screenshot set](http://i-dont-believe-in-mountains.tumblr.com/post/171319790332/singingintrovert-i-found-more-qrows-talking-about) of Qrow talking about Ozpin during A Much-Needed Talk. I couldn't help wondering if Ruby noticed how happy her uncle looked. And thus, I was inspired.

The night Ruby learned magic was real, that a witch seeking to destroy the world wanted her dead, she didn't sleep. She laid awake in her sleeping bag, Crescent Rose close at hand, and thought. It would be both easy and understandable to say she thought about the things she was told, the truths that had been kept from her; she knew the rest of her new team was, could tell just from their breathing that they were made as sleepless by their thoughts as she was.

But she didn’t think about Salem or magic or relics or gods. She thought about what wasn’t said. Her mind spun with the memory of Qrow’s face when he said Ozpin’s name.

Qrow was her uncle, her hero, one of her favorite people. She knew him, he flaws, his vices, his dramatics. She’d spent years watching stress and grief and pain etch lines into his face, grey his hair, and bow his shoulder even as he kept fighting. She’d watched him stumble back to Patch like it was the only safe haven in Remnant, a little more exhausted and heart-sore every time. More importantly, she knew how he looked when he talked about the people he loved. He’d hoarded time with them like it was the best kind of painkiller. Talking to them, about them, it eased the tired lines of his face, helped brace him up against whatever he faced outside of their home. She had years of memories of watching how they helped him bear his burdens.

All of that was nothing, _nothing_ , on the effect of Qrow just saying Ozpin’s name. Months of loneliness, years of stress, even the new pain of his wound, all of it just disappeared as soon as he talked about Ozpin. Not eased, not lightened; vanished completely, just melted away, like the mere memory of Ozpin was enough to make all the bad thing go away. In its place there was warmth and affection, a joy that took a decade off his face; love, so strong and so tender it made a quiet ache form in her chest just to see.

Across all the years she’d known him, she’d never seen Qrow in love before.

It was weird to think about; to wrap her mind around the idea of her uncle, who told gross jokes until Taiyang tried to kick him out and always had an inappropriate story about barmaids ready to tease her and Yang with, being in love. Totally, all-consuming, the kind that ached even when it was good. Her dad looked like that sometimes, when he talked about Summer, in the moments before he remembered she was gone. She’d grown up seeing that look, but she’d never seen it on Qrow before.

And Professor Ozpin. She’d barely even known they were friends. How long had Qrow felt that way and she’d never noticed? Had he ever acted on it? Her dear, flighty uncle, who had spoken of his semblance with tired resignation, who so rarely stayed in one place because he worried about what might happen if he did, who loved and loved and loved his family with everything he was-- had he taken a chance with a relationship, or had he shied away and kept quiet? Loved devotedly but distantly, like she was beginning to realize was his habit, if not his nature.

Had Ozpin felt the same?

Professor Ozpin, their proper, mysterious, eternally composed headmaster, who always seemed to know what to say, in love with her uncle Qrow. It was strange to think of Professor Ozpin in a role so… personal, especially placed next to Qrow.

She tried to picture it. Ran over every memory of them she had. Thought about the only time she’d seen them together, after the fight with Weiss’s sister. The easy familiarity with which Ozpin addressed Qrow, even as he scolded Qrow; how Qrow had never actually seemed concerned about being in trouble, had immediately joked with her in spite of Ozpin’s stern tone, like he never expected to be punished for blowing a hole in the school’s courtyard.

She thought about them seperate. The first time she’d met Ozpin, the brief mention of her uncle, the shift of Ozpin’s tone and expression. How he’d said, “ _One other scythe-wielder of that skill_ ” with something that, in hindsight, sounded a lot like pride; “ _Dusty old crow_ ” with fondness, a combination of amusement and affection. How he’d gentled almost, softened around the edges.

She thought about Qrow playing games in her cramped dorm room, shrugging off the idea of trouble like it was never a thought. “ _Oz and I go way back_ ”, said with a simple, easy joy. And there hadn’t been quite so dramatic a transformation then, Qrow hadn’t been so weighed down, but even then the mention of Ozpin had eased something in him, shaved years off his face. Made him happy, made him smile wider, truer, than the sardonic half-grin she knew best.

She thought about how absolutely none of it _mattered_.

Ozpin was “missing”, only at this point it had been months and it seemed senselessly hopeful to say he was still alive. Whatever had been between him and her uncle, it was just another thing Cinder had destroyed that night.

Even Qrow knew it, wasn’t bothering to lie otherwise; while he spoke of Ozpin in nebulous terms, not quite past tense, there was nothing nebulous about the look on his face afterwards. After he remembered Ozpin was gone, that so-telling ease crumbled, replaced by a sharp grief. It had been a second before Qrow swallowed it all down and continued his story, but she knew her uncle, and she knew that look.

Dust, she knew _that look_.

A quiet but deep-set sadness, a grief and devastation that had burrowed so deep it was in the bones, a heartbreak so final and so total it began to define a person. Her dad looked like that, usually when he thought no one was looking; she’d grown up catching second-long glimpses of that look while he reminisced, just before he realized she was there. Yang looked like that more and more over the years, as Ruby herself got older and Yang felt she had to hide it less, because Raven wasn’t dead but she was so far out of Yang’s reach she might as well be. _Jaune_ looked like that now, late at night when they were supposed to be sleeping, when the echo of Pyrrha’s ghost was too loud to ignore. Yes, she knew that look. She’d spent her whole life watching her family mourn the people they loved.

Ruby closed her eyes, biting her lip against the sick, teary feeling that trembled up her chest. It wasn’t _fair_. How much did the fall of Beacon have to take? How many things did they have to lose? Why did Qrow have to carry this, when he already carried so much?

In the chaos after the Fall, following them around and protecting them, had Qrow ever even taken the time to mourn? Or had he just swallowed it all down and kept going? She knew which one was more like her uncle.

Ruby laid awake the whole night, turning it over in her mind, trying to breathe around the knot of hurt in her chest. Eventually, the sky lightened and she could hear the others begin to move about, giving up the illusion of sleep. She didn’t think anyone had actually slept that much.

She didn’t follow suit immediately, not until she heard Qrow’s cough worse, heard it turn deep and wet. Fear burned cold down her throat; she scrambled to her feet and hurried over. Qrow’s wound bled purple, confirming her fears that something had gone wrong. She dropped to her knees that second Qrow fainted, hands reaching out to help even though she wasn’t sure what she could do.

_Please no, not someone else._

Ren joined her a bare second later, looking over Qrow. The expression on his face wasn’t encouraging though. “Scorpion faunus,” he said, with a note of weary realization. “He’s been poisoned.”

“What?” Jaune demanded and all the anger and bitterness from last night had been replaced by concern. 

Ruby reached out and pressed her hand to Qrow’s forehead. She winced. “He’s burning up.”

“He needs help, now,” Ren said.

“Alright, okay,” Jaune said and his voice had gained the steady, calm tone that meant he was thinking. The frantic rabbit’s pace of her heart eased somewhat, because she trusted that voice to take care of things. “Survival skills class, I still remember how to make a stretcher. Nora, help me. Ren, do what you can for him for now.”

Ren nodded and turned to look at her. “I need our first aid kit.”

“Right,” she agreed and ran to get it, ignoring Jaune and Nora working. When she returned to Ren’s side, she found him steadily undoing Qrow’s bandages. “Here,” she sat the pack next to Ren, watching her uncle closely. Qrow wasn’t quite unconscious, though he was terrifyingly close; his eyes fluttered open and closed weakly, dazed and unfocused, and his cough was bad enough it kept him from totally drifting off.

Ren began attempting to move Qrow as gently as possible, roll of fresh bandages in hand. She helped as best she could, trying to ignore the tremble in her own hands as she braced Qrow’s body against hers. She could feel the heat of his fever, winced when coughs shook them both, and wondered furiously why Qrow hadn’t said anything earlier. When Ren finished, they tried to shift him back upwards; feverish, Qrow gave a hazy mutter and unbalanced, falling away from them. Ruby yanked him back upright hurriedly, perhaps too roughly. Qrow looked up briefly, looking around with glazed eyes. After a second, his head head fell back down again, as if it was too heavy to hold up any longer. 

“You’re okay,” she said hurriedly, “I’ve got you.”

Ren checked the fit of Qrow’s bandages one last time, then straightened with a heavy sigh. “We’ll need to keep him hydrated, make sure his fever doesn’t get too-... Ruby.” All at once his tone changed. Not quite shock, not quite alarm., not quite confusion, and yet all three at once. She stiffened. “Isn’t that….?”

He wasn’t looking at Qrow; Ren was looking to the side, at the ground, eyes wide. She followed his gaze, half-leaning over Qrow to see, and froze. Laying on the ground, bright silver against the dirt, was Ozpin’s collapsed cane, fallen when Qrow was jostled. 

Qrow had Ozpin’s cane.

Ruby’s head spun with the realization, with what it meant. If Qrow had the cane, then there was no doubt Ozpin was dead, instead of just missing. No room for even the most naive of hopes. It meant Qrow had _found_ Ozpin, or at least his body. And he’d carried out Ozpin’s cane, carried it with him, kept it safe. Like Jaune’s shield and sash, carrying the ones they loved forward however they could.

She picked the cane up with the gentlest hands, though the shaking had gotten worse. It had been senseless and naive a hope, but apparently, she’d still carried a shred of it, that Ozpin was still alive. But he wasn’t. The headmaster that had seen promise in her enough to invite her two years earlier, to give her a team, who had trusted her with important missions, who had patiently listened to her problems and soothed her anxieties-- he was dead. She’d never get to see that strange, gentle man again. The realization hurt with a surprising sharpness.

Ruby looked at her uncle. Her dear, idiot uncle, who wore his love on his sleeve and hid his pain buried deep. She took one of his hands and placed the cane in his palm, then picked up his other hand and placed it over the other. It took a second for Qrow to respond. Then his hands curled weakly around the cane. His eyes opened half-way to stare down at it. “Oz?” he asked in a croaking whisper, all dazed confusion.

Then his head rose, looking at her. No, not at her; those eyes were still unfocused, fever hazy, and they didn’t see her at all. “Oz?” he asked again, stronger now.

Ruby gasped, ragged, shocked and borderline horrified, imagining she could hear her own heart break. Qrow looked so _hopeful_ , and it made him look so young. Boyish, almost, in a way she’d never seen him look before, and vulnerable like she didn’t associate with her great huntsman uncle. It was the kind of hope and optimism that didn’t expect to be futile, to hurt, that had never been disappointed before. The kind of youthful vulnerability that sought comfort and support and _knew_ a hand would be there to offer it. And not a hint that Qrow remembered Ozpin was dead and couldn’t give any of it.

“His fever’s very high,” Ren said, though she heard him as if from a distance. She couldn’t look away from Qrow’s eyes. “He’s hallucinating.”

Qrow was sick, and in so much pain, and _of course_ Ozpin would be there to help. Of course he would be. He probably had been so many times before.

Ruby drew in a ragged breath, eyes burning, and covered Qrow’s hands with both of hers. “I’m sorry,” she whispered wetly.

She watched the words sink in. She watched him remember bit by bit that Ozpin was gone. She watched him _break_. That terrible vulnerability never fled from his face, but all the hope transformed into pain. His eyes fell to the cane, just visible between their fingers, and something desperate and fractured cracked across his face. She watched him crumble into himself, shoulders rising, hands tightening around the cane and pulling it closer. His breath hitched and while he didn’t cry, the tiny sound echoed.

Ruby leaned forward until she could wrap her arms around his shoulders and draw him close. He didn’t respond, even when she tucked her chin over his head, trying her best to imitate the comfort he’d given her so often in the past. “I’m sorry,” she said, trying desperately to wrap Qrow up in her arms completely, shield from the world that seemed determined to destroy him. “I’m so sorry.”


End file.
